


You Are MIKLEO

by face_in_a_jar



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Affectionate Parody, Canon Divergance, Comedy, Eventual Romance, Fandom-Approved Mikleo Sass, Faux Text-Based Adventure, In this chapter: TRAUMA AND A CUTE DOG!, Look! There are even pictures!, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-19 04:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8190190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/face_in_a_jar/pseuds/face_in_a_jar
Summary: Don’t let your rival steal you glory! Embark on a journey as Seraph Mikleo, and use your water magic and cutting wit to stop The Lord of Calamity absolutely all by yourself! With the help of your dorkus malorkus best friend (JUST friends thank YOU), do you have what it takes to save the world?!





	1. DOWN IS THE GROUND

 

You are MIKLEO, history scholar, closet cooking-enthusiast, and “amateur” ruins investigator. As two out of three of your titles imply, your primary hobby is ADVENTURE ARCHAEOLOGY, and you begin your adventure at the MT. MABINOGIO RUINS, commonly referred to as “The Ruins” for convenience sake. And because very few people can’t say its full name without laughing.

 

You are accompanied by your childhood friend SOREY, of which you have a working partnership. While he prefers the term “best buddies”, you, for various reasons, prefer the term “rivals”. Mostly because it makes your ventures sound more rigorously academic than a layman observation of your daily routine being hanging out at the coolest looking rock at town, asking each other ‘so, what do you want to do?’ for an hour, and then schlepping around for the rest of the day. It also helps dampen the implications that come from your ‘shlepping around’ activities usually going off on a huge tangent that somehow ends with the both of you holding hands.

 

But your current adventure has run into a hitch--Sorey has run off. To be fair, you believe that he might have tried to set a plan for you to follow, as you remember him saying something to you along the lines of, “Hey Mikleo, I’m going to this and that, something over something.” However, you were attempting to categorize a shale-like fragment that looked like a set of pre-Asgardian hieroglyphs (it turned out to be just a rock--but damn was it uncanny). When you were about to fire off on a long, “nerd rage” diatribe, Sorey was long gone. Or, just, did the thing he said he was going to do when you weren’t listening. Whatever! He should have known better!

 

Well, you can’t just sit here, can you? How to proceed?

 

**= >USE YOUR WATER MAGIC TO TRACK HIM**

 

Ah, yes! One critical difference between yourself and your cohort is that while he was a HUMAN, you are a SERAPH, a dignified magical being possessing great and holy powers over the elements. And your affinity is the proudest: WATER.

 

There’s a common attitude that calls water magic the “weakest” and “girliest” elements of the main four. Somehow, even wind gets a little more man cred, which surprises you? For one thing, water is not ‘weak’--hello, universal solvent? For another, thing, it is incredibly versatile, capable of basic utility functions in addition to its already potent combat and medicinal capabilities. For instance, you could...hm. Maybe you could. Track patterns in condensation? Maybe there’s some sort of trail of dissolved particles you could follow? Or, oh yeah! Human bodies are made of two-thirds water at least, right? You can track him with his water signature.

 

His water signature. The thing that is not actually a thing.

 

Alright, but still, you might be onto something. Maybe there’s a way you could actually find him by the water within his essence. Wow, that sounded kind of weird. You meant that more as a “breadcrumb trail” of sorts. You’d find a trace of the water of Sorey’s being and track it. Like a loose thread in his being. That you’d grab, and...unravel two thirds of his existence.

 

Alright. The water idea’s a dud. You are going to stop.

 

**= > THINK LIKE SOREY**

 

“Ha ha, oh gosh!” you think, getting into character. “These ruins sure are something! Look at how this architecture resembles worship in the Era of the Gods!”--IT ABSOLUTELY DOES NOT, BUT WHATEVER--”Whups, it’s past eight, and I forgot to eat again! Mikleo can just carry me back, ha ha ha. Though it won’t stop me from throwing myself off a cliff to go get some herbs to help with The First Peron Who Walked Up To Me’s headache! Gosh! But that Mikleo sure is uptight! Hey pal, do you need me to rub your shoulders when I can _barely hold myself up from hunger_?”

 

...that didn’t get you anywhere.

 

**= > THINK OF WHAT SOREY WOULD PROBABLY BE LOOKING FOR WITHOUT YOU**

 

For the past couple of days, Sorey has taken special interest in carvings that, according to your previous findings, may indicate potential carved depictions of THE SHEPHERD. Non-oral records of this legendary title are tragically scarce, and any finding would prove historically invaluable. Especially here in ELYSIA, which has served as a Seraphim-exclusive haven for countless generations.

 

One would think that after a decade of thorough scoring, the two of  you would have picked the ruins from top to bottom. Not so. For one thing, the interior is maze-like and vast, to the point that the two of you are taking the possibility of it “changing” by means of high-level seraphic artes into consideration. For another thing, the ruins are tall, and your search has lead you, for all intents and purposes, to the “roof” of the spire. Certainly, a nigh-fatal drop awaits your misstep either way.

 

Naturally, naked danger would already be a siren call for Sorey, and knowing your luck and his, he’s probably near the highest precipice which, as you do, also has the greatest fall, the narrowest protruding walkway, and the strongest case for the carving, to encourage all the short-sighted idiocy that either of you can devise. This is not good.

 

**= >HEAD TO THE PRECIPICE OF THE SHEPHERD TO TRACK SOREY**

 

In your heart of hearts, you know that Sorey is neither stupid nor reckless, despite your frequent criticisms implying otherwise. However, you do believe that he either attracts, is attracted to, or otherwise happens to find frequent company with the dangerous and the foolish. This is why you you reason with yourself that you must abandon a modicum of caution in favor of speed. As his friend, you can’t let him alone in danger! And uh, as his rival too. Because if there’s danger you need to. Hmm. Beat him to it? Yes, that’s it!

 

You head down the walkways. Is it right to call them walkways? They are each a generous five feet wide, and even around the general spiral shape of the ruin’s tower, they frequently arch back and forth from the outer wall, leaving horrific gaps and perilous plunges. Maybe you should call them railings? Rafters? No no, idiot, rafters are indoors. Maybe you’ll ask Sorey when you find him.

 

Also, weren’t these things a bit more narrow? You remember stumbling at least twice the last you tried to cross them. Though, to be completely fair, you don’t have the best shoes for either climbing or scaling--Sorey’s got you beat in that department. One would go so far to say that, with your  two-pronged cloak, heels, and belt-girdled breast coat, you’re not dressed for anything more than a trip to a library with a modestly-controlled interior climate. But you know? That’s fine. You are a being closer to mana than material, and thus are not bound by so many mortal laws. And you worked for these pants. You are going to own them.

 

 

Oh, there he is! Look at that! Not even bothering to brace himself, Sorey is sitting mere feet from the edge of an inscription, busily comparing the depictions carved in the wall to that of his copy in the CELESTIAL RECORD, the best book ever written, and yes, you will fight someone on that. Your exasperation and relief is audible, and in response, he shuts the book with a dry thud, and greets you with a smiling tirade.

 

“Mikleo, hey!” he says, “These carvings are almost identical those described in the earliest human depictions of the Shepherd! I told you it was going to be up here!”

 

His eyes are gleaming. You can already see a smile race across his face, just barely holding back a secret that he’s either certain you’re not in on, or just thinks you are and agree. Well, don’t get up Sorey, because guess what?

 

**= > SHOOT HIM DOWN**

 

“Not so fast, there,” you say, although he remains unfazed, “you can’t assume this means that communion with the Seraphim goes all the way back to the Era of the Gods.” Obviously, you would love irrefutable proof that humans losing the ability to perceive Seraphim by normal means was a strictly modern phenomenon, but that’s no excuse to distort evidence. For one thing, you remind him, there’s no certainty that these ruins are pre-Asgard, no matter how “ridonkulously old’ the artifacts you’ve uncovered are. For another thing, this ancient visage of the Shepherd is just that--the Shepherd alone, without the assistance of a Seraph serving as his PRIME LORD.

 

“And that’s not even getting into why it’s out here, where no one can see it, and--” you inhale to deliver the coup-de-gras, “no one should be out here, alone, trying to!”

 

Sorey is far less moved by your bombast than you would have hoped, but he still chuckles sheepishly and scratches his head. “Aw, geez man,” he says, “I told you where I was going.”

 

Well, yeah, but “You still shouldn’t have” you say. Sorey smiles wryly--clever man, he’s seen through your ruse! But just as he plans to take a dig at your listening skills, the sky is cleaved in two by a burst of light. Lightning?! But the sky’s clear!

 

**= > BRACE SOREY**

 

You brace yourself against the wall and, with one arm free, sweep Sorey to do the same. Another flash ignites the air before you and, while well out of the way of danger, is still far too close for a human and water seraph's better health. Of course, this can only mean one thing, and Sorey has picked up on it.

 

“Gramps’s lightning?” he says. Indeed, your caretaker and guardian, SERAPH ZENRUS, is one with a tremendously powerful domain and formidable artes at his disposal. “Oh man, it can’t be good if he’s busting that out.”

 

Sorey’s right; Gramp’s domain is so powerful, its mere presence is enough to repel the scourge of MALEVOLENCE and the HELLIONS it spawns. Should he feel the need to, he could easily cast aside the most offensive beings without needing to resort to GOOD GRAVY, YOUR ARM IS AROUND SOREY AND YOU’VE PINNED HIM NEXT TO YOU ON A WALL.

 

You immediately release Sorey from your grip. And grant a healthy breadth of personal space between yourself and him. And as you take three steps backward, the cliff that would normally accommodate your retreat is immediately struck by lighting and crumbles into oblivion.

 

**= > PLUNGE TO YOUR DEATH**

 

Well, damn, what a painfully uneventful adventure with a disappointing ending.

 

But your plummet to your fate is interrupted by a scream, and then a desperate yank at the back of your collar, nearly rupturing your windpipe in the process. “Mikleo!!” you hear Sorey yell. “Mikleo, are you okay?!”

 

Well Sorey, how okay does this look right now? Shoot, that’s rude. You’ve been better? That still sounds smug. Wait, idiot, he’s asking you a question, don’t just dangle there like a buffoon.

 

“I’d be better with a little help?!” you shoot back. You could have phrased that worse, you think, as Sorey lets out a nervous laugh and an ‘ah, right’. Not that it makes you feel like any less of an ass. As Sorey works to haul your body onto solid ground, you contemplate the benefits of never opening your mouth ever again. Good thing the ruins have you covered, as a moaning crack around Sorey’s grounding loudly announces its intent to give way.

 

**= > STOP SOREY FROM PLUNGING TO HIS DEATH**

 

You feel Sorey stumble in the direction your fall resumes; deathward. Now’s the time to use your water artes!

 

First thing’s first: you flip yourself in midair to a much more dignified descent. You then cast TWIN FLOW! Normally an offensive arte, you summon two jets of water from the ground below, which entwine together to form a cushion of water that breaks Sorey’s fall. Righting yourself to a spell-casting stance has also put you in a better place to brace your own fall. You land flat-footed on hard ground, and, not long after that, the receding tide delivers Sorey to earth, with a “Nice!” from your companion resounding a job well done. Good thing your water is magic and thus don’t have to worry about surface tension or the principles of force and so on and so forth.

 

**= > ASK IF HE’S OKAY**

 

You inquiry is answered with Sorey getting up and trying to wring out his own shirt. “Can’t complain, all things considered!” he said, giving you a thumbs up. Well done! You allow yourself a brief moment of smug satisfaction. “Though I kinda wanna go home and change. Nothing worse than when you get soaked to your underwear.” Oh yeah, definitely. Your very spiritual attunement is to that of the life-giving sea, and even you think it feels disgusting.

 

You take a brief look upon your surroundings. Wonder upon wonders, it seems your fall has taken you to the base of the ruins, and not too far from the exit at that! You’ve saved your friend's life, found a depiction of the Shepherd, AND you don’t even need to walk down that needlessly tall flight of stairs again! This is a triumph. You’ll make a note here: HUGE SUCCESS.

 

**= > END THE JOURNEY WITH NO FURTHER EVENT**

 

The two of you agree to go home and engage in no further adventures. You make your way through the catacombs, and after the prudent trimmings of a few offending spider webs (which was odd. You could have sworn you were not here too long ago? Well, it was a mild winter, they’ve been breeding like rabbits), the two of you are on the final sweep before the exit. All’s well that ends well.

 

“Hey, look down there!” Sorey said, grabbing you by the arm, and signalling your gaze towards the other side of a collapsed chasm. Separated by the void was a small altar to the Seraphim, and before it lay a young women clad in armor. A stranger! Here in Elysia! And a human to boot!

 

You know where this is going to go. One look over at Sorey, eyes wide with surprise and terror, tells much. Oh no. Oh, no no no no no.

 

**= > TALK HIM OUT OF IT**

 

“Sorey, we can’t!” you tell him. “Gramps will kill us if we bring another human back!” After all, human hearts create the darkness that turn into malevolence, which in turn creates hellions by corrupting various aspects of nature. And hellions are the one true foe of the Seraphim, being the only creatures known that can be neither battled nor purified by artes alone. Obviously, you don’t say any of this to Sorey, but judging by the look of worry and disappointment on his face, he’s gotten the gist of your argument.

 

“If we leave her there, she’ll die for sure,” he replies.

 

You do not think this is a good idea. You do not want to do this. And you waste no time to inform Sorey of both. But. Sorey is human. Sorey has never met other humans. And you’re not so spiteful as to think any human wants to be a malevolence-generating soul-poisoner. Probably. You agree to work with Sorey to rescue the girl, and Sorey gifts you with a relieved smile and an energetic “Thank you!”

 

Yes, yes, you’re welcome Sorey. What’s one more bout of life-endangering.

 

**= >WORK OUT A PLAN**

 

Well, if one is going to do the girl-rescuing thing, one must first get access to the girl what be needing rescuing. Heaven knows how she survived that fall, as one error could have thrown her down the wide gulf that stands between the two of you and the altar before which she rests. You make your way to the edge of the of the rock face, and to your expectation, there is no way to easily cross. The gap is a solid twenty paces wide, the edges of the cliffs are smooth, there are no protrusions to transgress, and the steep drop is not worth the risk of a far more feasible jump.

 

Yet you can’t help but think there is intentional design here. While some areas are careworn, the structure indicates there is _supposed_ to be a pitfall separating the altar from the entrance, strangely enough. You throw your theory to Sorey, who agrees with a nod.

 

“You know what this means, right?” you posit.

 

“Oh yeah!” says Sorey. “There’s probably some mechanism in place right now that we can’t see.” Ha, wow Sorey, that’s pretty sad. What sort of idiot, text-pick choice did you toss a coin over to get ‘magic invisible bridge’?

 

Your train of thought causes you sudden pause. What is perception? Do humans run on the same plane of cognitive reasoning, or do they have some sort of different way of making sense of reality? What does the world look like through Sorey’s eyes? Can you safely say that humans see the same way you do, or have the same concept of choice? What if there isn’t so much of a cause-and-effect way of interacting? Like an L1/R1 binary model for moral choice? That would be terrible.

“So, do you wanna get going, or…?” Sorey asks, bringing you back. Wait, what? Oh, he’s pointing to a balcony overlooking the alter. It looks like there’s a stairway that leads to it, and a strange device that--

 

Well belt your shirt all the way up, the stupid thing was invisible!

 

“Right?” Sorey said. “There’s no way to say ‘I bet it’s just invisible!’ without thinking you sound like a total idiot. Thanks for bearing with me”. Well. One more point for never opening your mouth.

 

**= >ACTIVATE THE DEVICE**

 

Considering your track record thus far, the trip to the overlook goes without hitch. You and Sorey both take great caution in your ascent, but despite jumping at every falling pebble and hollow echo, no traps are sprung, and no obstacles block your path. You arrive at the overlook, unscathed and not even too winded from your trek.

 

A few jolts of mana, a couple levers pulled, and one or two, ahem, encouraging pats to get it started up, and the device is brought to life! From your view, you see threads of water weave together, and then freezing upon themselves from both sides of the divide to form a crystalline bridge of ice. Damn! If you knew it was going to do that, you would have just done it yourself!

 

Sorey does not seem to share your disappointment. In fact, he only just returns to your side as the final cornerstone freezes on the bridge. In his hand, he holds a beaded glove embossed with the CREST OF THE SHEPHERD. You ask him where he got it.

 

“Dunno,” he said. “Found it in a chest.” Beg pardon?! What if it had been a trap? What if a monster had popped out? What’s more, it was his stupid idea to save the girl in the first place! You swear, that weird Shepherd complex of his is going to get him killed one way or another.

 

You tear the glove out of his hands, and give him a piece of your mind: “You can’t afford to get distracted right now! You can have this when we get back!”

 

Sorey wears a look that only a good friend can have: complete disappointment in you, but knowing too much about you to either be surprised or take time to correct you in the moment. You come to the realization that you did an objectively rotten thing right there! You might want to look into a character development arc or the like, because as you’re going now, you’ll probably end up an unbearable jerk!

 

**= >APOLOGIZE**

 

Obviously, you have to make amends, but you can’t bear to do it insincerely; partially on principle, and partially because, despite yourself, you’re still seething. Why are you so on edge all of a sudden? You thought it was because Sorey was risking injury or slacking off, but even you’re not that stubborn and irritable. He was just stepping out for a second to get something out of a chest, jeez. Are you that fastidious over time lost?

 

As the two of you return to the platform in silence, you realize how much you don’t want to be here. By now, you should have been home lying in bed, reading a book, and churning some ice cream (and yes, you are capable of doing all three at once). You’re not mad at Sorey, you realize. You’re mad at that knight for falling through the roof and nearly dying, disrupting your routine, and ruining your evening plans. Ah. Your motives were far more petty than you could have expected--such is the joy of self-reflection.

 

Another realization comes: hey, genius! If you want to smooth things over, maybe giving Sorey his glove back would be a nice start? Even if you’re wrestling with your demons, is that reason to deny a man his hero glove? No. And now, since you’re at the bottom of the stairs anyway, right before crossing the bridge and saving the girl and going home, this is pretty much the eleventh hour of being decent. You pull out the glove, and ready at least a token admittance to your guilt.

 

Except not! Another loud crack of thunder echoes through the stone, and a slab of ceiling careens to Earth and shatters close enough for you and Sorey to feel the impact whip across your faces. Within the remains lies the carcass of a huge spider, boasting a leg span the size of your combined heights, fangs sporting the battle scars of chipped bones and rendered flesh, and dark pools of malevolence spilling from its wounds. Alright, Gramps! You are on a roll!

 

Oh shoot, it’s still alive.

 

 

 **ENCOUNTER!** **HUGE SPIDER**

 

**ATK: ★ ★ ★**

**DEF: ★ ★**

**LEGS: A WHOLE BUNCH**

**GROSS: ★ ★ ★ ★ ★**

 

You ready your weapons: for Sorey, his ceremonial sword, and for you, your staff. Large stick. Very thin club. You ready that thing. Your arms possess minimal combat effectiveness since they were both found in what you suspect to be an ancient garbage pile. But they serve their job for self defense and are still quite blunt, if dull. Plus, come on, it’s a spider. You’ll be fine.

 

“Ready Mikleo?” Sorey asks, and you turn and nod in affirmation. You both know the drill--spiders are in the "gross” genus, and notoriously weak to water for it. Sorey shoots forward, slamming his sword hard into the spider’s side. Since his sword has the razor edge of a fruit peeler, it only manages to bruise the beast’s carapace. But that’s all the softening it needs for a TWIN FLOW right where it hurts!

 

Your spell hits dead on, and the monster teeters to its side and falls! Perfect! Sorey raises a hand for a hive five, and boy oh boy, do you high five him back. Nothing takes out the guilty sting of social faux pas more than the thrill of victory! But before you could have any further bumps or daps in celebration, the spider rights itself with an angry screech. As it regains its balance, the hole you blasted through its abdomen re-knits and is soon spotlessly healed to its former glory.

 

Fantastic. It’s a hellion.

 

**= >ASK SOREY SOMETHING TO THE EFFECT OF “NOW WHAT?!”**

 

Your friend is clearly in as much of a panic as you are, but unlike you, he can turn thoughtful on a dime. “Well, it’s a bug, so I would either go squish it, or scare it.” He is the master of delivering divine truth in seemingly oversimplified and moronic packages. Damn. You wish you had that.

 

Scare or splat then? The spider seems pretty agitated by your aggression, but you’re having a hard time reading if its gait indicates trepidation or just steeled desire to kill you more. Though alternatively, your previous methods have leaned more towards “squish” and went disastrously for it, so perhaps intimidation would be the better avenue for now, if only for a change of pace

 

“Of course, then there’s the whole thing about scaring something three times as big as we are,” Sorey adds. He’s got a point.

 

**= >IDENTIFY WEAK POINTS**

 

Well, if you can’t beat it with brawn, try with brains! The tables have turned: now you must be the bug, and this beast the one that shrieks for a minute straight when you appear in the sink! Its retaliation proudly announces its weakness: its legs!

 

You’re starting to get a bit embarrassed for riding on this so much, but whatever, TWIN FLOW! You slam your staff into the ground, and the erupting jets turn into a sheet of water that slithers beneath the spider’s digits. It loses traction almost immediately and is soon caught within the current. You...honestly weren’t expecting that! You clearly have underestimated your strength, because the hellion is so thrown back by your magic that it skits hopelessly backwards, struggling in vain against the tide that quickly washes it off the cliff to its doom. Oof. That’s a little more bloodthirsty than you would have liked.

 

Sorey seems to be of a similar temperament to yours. “G-good job,” he stammers, trying not to look out of place being basically uncomfortable that the two of you threw a living being off a cliff.

 

**= >BREAK TENSION**

 

Above all, don’t make it awkward! Maybe you should offer a high five? No, too callous. Maybe a joke? A _pun_. Now we’re talking. Oh, or tell the truth. You know, the obvious and decent thing.

“I had no idea that was going to happen,” you say, clearing your throat in hope to ease atmosphere. Sorey laughs.

 

“Well it, uh, worked out I guess?” he says, raising his hand for another high five. “Seriously though, good job.” His sentence ends with the sound of another long hiss, followed by three legs hooking over the cliff edge from where your prey was thrown. Of course it can climb walls. It’s a spider.

 

**= >SQUISH**

 

Sorey is already diving for the spider, slicing through a leg to throw off its balance. It teeters backward, but holds fast to the edge, and Sorey needs to take a Back Step (-10 SC) to avoid a swipe from one of its spares. Why did you think having a bunch of legs was a weakness again?

 

You’ve little time to contemplate your bipedal vanity: Sorey’s recovered from his dodge, and the two of you charge at the beast full speed. The hellion’s lost limb has already regenerated, and its eight eyes now burn with the glow of vengeance, far too enraged to flee. If you hope to live, let alone put it to submission, you will need to be merciless. And sadly, the odds are not in your favor.

 

So it’s quite fortunate that another crash of thunder tolls, followed by another fragment of the ruins plummeting downward, catching the spider just before it could hoist itself onto solid ground, and throwing it to the dark pits of the unknown, it’s wretched cries signalling that it shall never be heard from again. +18 EXP.

 

“Wow! Go Gramps!” says Sorey. “Though now I’m worried about how well the ruins are going to hold up with all this.” Yeah! HEY, YEAH. Dammit Gramps!

 

“You there!” a voice calls from the other side of the bridge. It’s that knight girl! And what’s more, she’s on her feet, leaning on her great spear for support. You’re honestly surprised--her eyes are bright and alert, without a note of her former unconscious state, one that resulted from a fall that nearly slew a hellion.

 

“You must leave this place!” she says, as if she even knows where she is! “I don’t know how...I _really_ don’t know how,” she muttered almost scoldingly to herself, “but there’s a terrible storm out there! These ruins aren’t--”

 

Her failing balance cut her off, as she staggers against her spear. “Easy there!” you hear Sorey say, getting up to stop her. He didn’t even bother to be careful, sliding across the ice to get to her side. Of course. You follow, but your thoughts are far from her distress. You can tell that you were absolutely right all along; this was a horrible idea. It’s already bad enough that you can tell that she’s just as rash and short-sighted as Sorey, already primed to kill each other with their kindness. She has no clue of what she’s gotten herself into.

 

But you know. Oh ho ho ho, you know. This girl is going. To ruin. _Everything_.


	2. THE GIRL WHO RUINED EVERYTHING

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am tremendously grateful for the wonderful comments I've received on the first chapter--your kindness and encouragement has been my strength and inspiration. I encourage anyone who wishes to leave feedback (good and bad!) in this and the coming chapters.
> 
> As usual, Buttshop is really spoiling us with her art. Thank you, Buttshop!

It the eve of your fateful encounter with the lady knight, but your prophecy stands true; the girl’s nothing but trouble, and she's gotta go. She’s taking up residence in Sorey’s house, and as you speak (and furiously churn ice cream to distract yourself from your own frustration) she and your best-friend-and-rival are preparing for her eventual departure. Look at her, just look at that. She’s sitting on _Sorey’s bed_ , stripping off her filthy armor over your _nice clean sheets_ , and she hasn’t even given either of you her name! The only way you’re getting through this is obliterating ice crystals before they form in your custard and pretending each one is her big, stupid face.

 

“Let’s see,” says Sorey, sitting on the floor not too far away from the bed, counting necessities on his fingers. “We’re going to need to get you a travel pack, a sleeping bag...how much food do you think you’re going to need?”

 

“I should think two days worth, at most” she replies, organizing her armor against the wall with military precision in preparation for bed. Nice manners. For someone too stupid to carry a travel pack. Sorey’s taken all of this in stride, but he’s always been too patient for his own good (Exhibit A: his friendship with you). Alas, you have a cover to keep, so you continue to churn furiously, hoping your incorporeal rage somehow condenses into a form that can carry your deep shade to the realm of man.

 

The knight carefully lines her boots and gauntlets against the wall, and turns to Sorey as she rises. “I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you for what you’ve done for me, Sorey,” she says, and then wearily descends back to the bed. An uneasy smile crosses her lips. “May Mikleo be at our backs tomorrow.”

 

Oh for--! You channel your roiling fury into a whirlwind of ice-cream whipping, while Sorey nearly falls over laughing. “May Mikleo be at our backs!” he agrees.

 

“You’re not getting any of this ice cream Sorey, just for that!” you say, and Sorey turns around and whispers a frantic ‘sorry, sorry!’ in your direction. How did this knight errant manage to win favor in Elysia, haven of the Seraphim, explicitly forbidden to have any human contact? How did she end up in Sorey’s care? And how have you become some sort of fairy-tale goblin living under the bed?

 

The facts were these.

 

**= > REMINISCE TO THE PAST**

 

Whatever opinion you have of outsiders, which you admit tends to run sour, they’re downright charitable compared to Seraph Zenrus, or “Gramps” as you and Sorey endearingly call him. He has cared for and raised the both of you with equal love and dignity, and stressed the same respect must be granted to humans as to seraphim, that one may not exist without the other, even in the face of chaos and malevolence. However, his love is tenfold more for Elysia and its denizens, and he would sooner cleave a mountain than let one of the villagers suffer a malevolence-induced sneeze. Bless his heart, but Sorey would have no hope of appealing to Gramps’s empathy, so as he gave a deft tour of a seemingly-empty village to the stranger, you made your way forward to plead your case in his stead.

 

Your testimony left him no less livid than you expected, and your defense became less about your argument and more stopping Gramps from taking it on himself to beat sense into the both of you. You hit the dirt, and stick to the facts--a dead human can still be possessed by malevolence, and you can’t imagine a better generator than said human’s own untimely death. What’s more, if Sorey’s care for his fellow humans was sinful and irrational, then Gramps must condemn his own for hypocrisy. You get read the book, but Gramps eventually conceded. He granted the girl asylum for the remainder of the day and two more, and she must leave not a moment later.

 

Sorey was placed in charge of seeing her off, since like most humans, she’s not capable of seeing you or the other seraphim. But there was one condition: he must not let her know anything of Elysia or its residents. Unfortunately, Sorey can see everyone, and has a personality not well equipped to ignore friends and neighbors. Which brings the issue as to why the knight knows your name; it only took a few “Hey Mikleo”s or “Thanks for bailing me out back there Mikle--oh shoot”s and “Mikleo, do you remember where we put the--DARN IT!”s before the knight is finally forced to ask.

 

You think it was about when she was settling in Sorey’s house when she finally asked, “Beg pardon Sorey, but who is ‘Mikleo’?”

 

You had offered him advice the best you could, firing off several stories--it’s the name of the mountain! A casual term of endearment! Some exasperated nonsense like ‘wowzer’ or ‘golly gee’! “It’s the wind!” Sorey replied to her question.

 

“The wind?” asked the knight. You asked too, albeit at a far more emphatic and frustrated pitch. “Oh! I think I understand. That’s why you’re always thanking 'Mikleo,' correct?”

 

“Yeah!” said Sorey, before you could protest. “And um, that’s why I’m always talking to him! Because he’s always around.”

 

You protest in the strongest possible terms--the wind?! You couldn’t even pick something more elementally appropriate? Like the gentle rain, or the melting morning dew? Well, huh, now you can see how water got its sugar-coated reputation. But Sorey met your protests with a quickly mouthed “at least it worked?!” and desperately tried to change the subject. It worked, and the conversation turned to their plans for the knight’s recovery and eventual return journey, which brings your tale just about back to the present.

 

**= >RETURN TO NOW**

 

Your displeasure towards the knight is real and growing. Oh, she’s certainly pleasant enough, and bright to boot--you’d go so far as to say she’s a fair match for Sorey in both regards. But you can tell she has ulterior motives. What little she's shared, she plans to return to the city of Ladylake where she claims famine, plague, and natural disaster run rampant. But Ladylake is far away, and you doubt she’d even so much as wander to the northern mountains unless she knew there was _something_ here. You know she won’t find it, but you wonder and fear what she will. What’s more, according to Sorey, she was separated from a small faction of knights investigating--which means they could be lying anywhere in ambush.

 

Sorey is eager to help her, as is his nature, but you know too much of nothing about her to put you at ease. Tomorrow, he’ll assist her in hunting game and preparing for her travels. He’s already extended invitation, but you have much bigger plans--using a front of removing further temptation of chatting up ‘the wind’, you plan to blast this woman’s secret wide open. You’re just mad that you won’t be able to do it before she makes the whole village smell like pig grease and jerky for a month.

 

Sorey douses the light, and the two of you retire to the floor to give the knight her space. But sleep evades you. Heaven knows why! Maybe it’s the _total stranger_ occupying your quarters, maybe it’s the _cold hard floor_ you now have to make do with. Perhaps it’s the uncomfortable reality she’s reacquainted you with: that Sorey is a human, and will, without fail, be inclined to leave and live life with his fellow humans. Either way, you feel no guilt in blaming it on her. So there.

 

**= > GO TO SLEEP**

 

You try to think of something to relax you, and being a huge walking stereotype, you think of the surface of the water, the mirror to the heavens. Your first memory is seeing your own reflection in the water, with Sorey by your side. You were both very young, so you can only recall him shouting, “Mikleo, look! You’re a water seraph! You _have_ to be!”

 

It’s not really a happy memory, but it grounds you somehow. You think of how it felt when you reached in the first time, how the water pulsed and wretched with your intrusion. But as you waited, as still as you could, it slowly steadied back to immaculate, and returned your gaze in calm acceptance.

 

 

**= > PREPARE FOR THE NEXT ADVENTURE**

 

You part ways in the morning, after giving Sorey strict instruction to keep himself safe at all costs, even if it means compromising the limbs of his new knight friend. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get this cranky over anything before!” he says in response. You remind him to underestimate neither her nor you, for your swiftness is that of the river, your wrath of the thunderous waterfall, and your salt as deep and wide as the very oceans. He bursts out laughing, and gives you a warm pat on the shoulder.

 

“Alright, point taken,” he says. “You be careful out there too, you big ol’ nag. Oh right! And don’t be back too late, in case we need to say goodbye to the knight!” You inform him you don’t care when she leaves, so long as it’s fast, quiet, and she doesn’t take your hairbrush. Sorey only responds with a sigh.

 

And now, here you are once again before the Mabig--shoot, you can not say that name without snickering. You’re back at The Ruins, and since the intrepid knight supposedly came from here, the forest entrance, then this shall be your start. Let the investigation begin!

 

**= > CHECK YOUR SURROUNDINGS**

 

To your relief, the forest doesn’t show the same signs of vandalism as the temple--a few trampled shrubs, the disgusting remains of some squashed bugs here and there, taller foliage bent and broken to make a path, but no traces of an entourage of knights. _If_ there was one, they were probably scattered somewhere outside of Gramps’s domain, and unfortunately, the ground is too trampled flat to make out individual footprints save for the--

 

THAT ARROGANT SLOB. LOOK AT THAT. She tracked mud into the ruins entrance! And it’s that disgusting kind that’s made of plant sludge and dung and is really squishy and putrid for it and AUGH. You just made your own eye twitch.

 

**= > CLEAN UP--NOT THAT IT’S YOUR JOB**

 

One strike of magic is enough to purge the stench of Lady Slobbeth, but still! She spent five minutes making the bed this morning, and then wasted time folding up the night shirt Sorey let her borrow on top in a perfect flag fold! She couldn’t have spent _two seconds_ to wipe her feet? Geez.

 

You wonder what else she broke in here, and take a quick look around the entrance corridor. It doesn’t take you long to notice a huge hole in the middle of the wall. An Idiot Knight Sized Hole.

 

Oh.

 

 _That’s it_.

 

**= > FOLLOW IT THROUGH**

 

Did she just? Smash right through this thing? That was the great, tempered champion’s solution to what, bugs? You bet she just saw some sort of pill beetle and did this. Or a spider. You chuckle to yourself, pretending that you weren’t nearly eaten by a giant spider less than 24 hours ago, and take a moment to mourn the majesty she destroyed. A depiction of a farming community in the Asgard era! It was...actually really boring, if memory serves, but still! You shall avenge its loss if it’s the last thing you do.

 

You crouch down, and step warily into the darkness. There doesn’t appear to be any other sources of light than the day behind you, so you reach into your supplies to light your TORCH (an amateur archaeologist staple). A few quick strikes of flint, and the blaze is lit. Your reward is a perfect view of a wall covered in thousands upon thousands of small, steely-black hellions.

 

 

**= > SCREAM**

 

Your shriek pierces the curtain of beasts, and as it echoes up and down the cavernous hollow, their mass shatters and their tiny bodies scatter deep into the shadows to brood in the cracks and cockles far out of your sight. As they flee, you entertain the possibility that they might just be a bunch of cockroaches. You’re going to tell anyone who asks they were hellions.

 

As your search resumes, you raise your torch to get a better look at at what the _hellions_  here were originally gathered on. It seems that they were feasting on the few scraps remaining on half a dozen skeletons entwined within the silver netting of what was, presumably, the spider hellion’s ancient web.

 

Well! You’ve got one good scream left in you!

 

**= > OBSERVE INTERMITTENTLY BETWEEN PANICKING**

 

Come on, now’s not the time to have a nervous fit! If you’ve got energy to run around in circles, by Jove, you’ve got energy to make sense of this scene! As you spiral in distress, you notice that only about half of the cadavers are human, and the rest are of horses. A small search party. Don’t that beat all.

 

But wait--something’s not right here. For one thing, there’s no way these could have entered this room by their own means. Most likely, they were dragged here by the hellion post-mortem for later feasting. What’s more, these skeletons are far too old to be from any recent search, and the tattered remains of their garb look like common hunting tunics, not knight uniforms. If anything, this was a small band of hunters or mercenaries, their only relation to the lady knight surely being a convenient cover. Ha! You knew she was a liar!

 

Sadly, this answers preciously few questions, up to and including how the knight was stupid enough to fall into the ruins from here. The floor gives way the minute you tap your foot in concentration.

 

**= > BRACE YOUR FALL**

 

Bless TWIN FLOW, truly. You’re starting to get an instinct for casting it the second you no longer feel ground beneath your feet, and to be fair, it’s paid off once again. You’re gently carried down by the waves, giving you a chance to scope your landing--it looks like another underground corridor, resembling the wings a few levels above the entrance you’ve previously explored. You ponder for a generous half second which way the knight could have gone after impact, but just as your feet hit the floor, you notice another collapsed section a few feet away.

 

You go to the edge of the next cleft to confirm its path, and sure enough, you’re peering down at the stone floor connected by your decaying ice bridge. It would have been hilarious if she crashed through two layers successively, but this is still pretty funny.

 

**= > DESCEND FURTHER**

 

Another flick of your staff plants a water column a few paces from where the knight landed, and as it rises, you bid it to arch over the wreckage and to your feet at the edge of the break. You hop on its roiling cushion, and it slowly retreats to its origin, gently carrying you to safe ground along with it.  _Nice_.

 

You dismount, flick some dust off your shirt, and take a quick look around the rubble. Nothing too noteworthy at first glance, but sizing it up, you could have sworn you saw something glitter within its gloomy center. Finding a break in the decimated rock and infrastructure, you do see something faintly metallic buried under some of the dust and shards, with the faint size and shape of some sort of hand tool.

 

**= > RETRIEVE THE EVIDENCE**

 

You crouch down, and to your dismay, the object is too far in the wreckage for you to easily reach, and the broken stones are too jagged and tightly packed to easily navigate it out with your staff. Seems your only choice is excavation.

 

The rocks are large, but you begin to slowly peel them away from their cluttered resting place. It’s slow going, with some rocks too large for you to move with your bare hands, forcing you to pry them aside with your staff. Man, not only do you look really undignified, but you never seem to come dressed right for these things. But at last, you strain away the last boulder between you and an easy reach. You retrieve the CEREMONIAL KNIFE, well worth your efforts!

 

**= > EXAMINE THE KNIFE**

 

The ceremonial knife is the size of a small dagger. It's quite dull by design, and you can’t see it having even the basic utility of food preparation, let alone combat. But it’s very well kept, a mighty chip in its blade--presumably from impact--being the only detracting fault in its otherwise polished splendor. You turn it over in your hands to reveal a detailed insignia carved into its handle: a short sword breaching from between two cresting waves. It’s beautiful--and not matching the seal embossed on the knights uniform. Check and mate!

 

This knife and the seal are the key to knowing who this mysterious knight really is. What is this calling card for, you wonder? A sect of assassins, perhaps? A criminal agency? The Lying Liars who Lie Guild? You don’t recognize it, but Gramps can no doubt can identify it. It’s time to return to Elysia, and solve this mystery once and for all!

 

**= > EXIT THE RUINS**

 

You cross the ice bridge in high spirits, smiling at the knife as if it’s a new friend in on a fantastic secret. You feel a pang of guilt for gloating over the downfall of another, but you remind yourself that it’s her fault. If she wasn’t prepared for people to investigate the bare minimum of her identity, she shouldn’t have taken such measures to obfuscate it! She didn’t even bother giving you a _fake_ _name_ for heaven’s sake! You inhale a deep breath of air to help freshen your mind of such droll thoughts, including your own attempts to hide your existence from her but a day before.

 

You exhale to cast away your misgivings, and open your eyes to take in your triumph once more. You are now staring into the empty sockets of another small pack of skeletons, suspended in another web that you nearly walked right into. Spanning high ceiling to floor, its luster is that of a fresh web--quite fresh, since you just used this same exit the prior day without incident.

 

Fear quickly short-circuits your mind, and so you obey your instincts to scan the room to see just how badly in trouble you are. The remains are tattered from struggle, and while the shredded fabric is bright blue instead of the lady knight’s pink (probably because she’s a girl, and you remember that humans get bent out of shape about that for some reason), they’re spangled with the same crest she wears on her mantle’s back. Scattered beneath them is armor of the same style and utility you’ve seen her wear, collapsed either from weight or simply being indigestible to the captor.

 

They’ve met the same demise as the mercenary cache, save for one critical difference--while the knights’ bones are stripped of tissue, yellow and brown notes on the bones indicate untapped marrow and moisture. These bones were not stripped by time. Whatever found them was _that_ hungry.

 

To conclude: this is really bad.

 

**= > GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE**

 

About face, soldier! You nearly trip across your own legs as you spin away from the sad remains. Your carelessness costs you, and you’re soon wretched back against your own force, your arm netted by the companion web that ensnared the knights. You move to your staff to bludgeon the web, but a great tremor nearly knocks you off your feet before you can take a swing.

Lament your fate, Seraph of the Tides, because you stand before an old foe. The woeful hellion, once a HUGE SPIDER, still festers in the malevolence of its untimely death, and your short-sighted foolishness and apathetic hand has ensnared it in an unending curse of agony and despair. No longer of the living world, it has transformed into the terrible DREAD SPIDER!

 

 

 **ENCOUNTER! DREAD SPIDER** ****

**ATK: ★ ★ ★ -- AND EVEN MORE!!**

 

**DEF: ★ ★ -- AND THAT’S BUT THE BEGINNING!!**

 

**LEGS: OKAY, THE SAME NUMBER AS BEFORE--THERE’S SOME GOOD NEWS HERE**

 

**GROSS: DON’T EVEN START**

 

Look at that beast! Look at those stats! It’s even a different color! How can you hope to get out of this one alive?!

 

**= > DESTROY THE WEB**

 

No doubt the knights and mercenaries attempted to slice through the web with their arms and only tangled themselves further into an ugly fate. You call a spray of water from the air, and with another wave of your staff, freeze the droplets into a flurry of ice needles. You fire them at the web, shredding it instantly, and throwing the dread spider in a panic over a thousand points of impact. Taking advantage of its confusion, you barrel forward, using both your inertia and the shredded ice to slide right under the beast betwixt it’s monstrous legs! Oh that is _slick_ , Mikleo.

 

The beast struggles to recover, but you’ve long since sped across the bridge before it can regain its poise. You identify the fracture in the ceiling that you arrived from, and lift yourself in the air on another wave of water, carrying you elegantly to the edge above. The spider is only left to hiss and scuttle in discontent as your bridge dissolves into a gentle rain below. One more victory for you!

 

**= > LEAVE THE TEMPLE, SERIOUSLY CONSIDERING TO NEVER COMING BACK**

 

You’ve accomplished much, but you can’t rest on your smug, self-satisfied laurels just yet. If the hellion yet lives after two encounters, the situation is quite dire; Gramps must be informed immediately. You sprint to the last breach in the ceiling that will catapult you homeward--only to feel your feet seized from beneath you. You have nothing to brace your loss of balance as your legs give out from under you, dragged backwards on your stomach to the fault in the floor.

 

Your eyes rove behind you to see the culprit--a thick cord of webbing tied around your ankles. Is this how the spider captured the knights?

 

**= > BREAK FREE**

 

Ice needles, go! You send another swarm of frozen shards at the spider, which snap through the web just as you feel your legs submerge into the collapsed ground. You scramble to put your footing over the edge, but a pair of forelegs dig before your path, frantically clawing through the debris to hoist itself past you and destroy your chance of escape. It’s nothing short of fortune that the monster sinks beneath the floor once more, while you do not.

 

You summon another water jet from under you, and you rise with desperate splashes that become your own frantic footfalls across the blooming path of water. You jump far too soon, and once again barely breakthrough the entrance above you, forcing you to bury your staff in the rubble above.

 

You manage to keep leverage, but your gut hammers into the uneven edge on impact. It is the only thing that keeps you aloft when another web wraps around your ankle to heave you back to what will, if you don’t think now, will be your doom.

 

**= > THINK FAST**

 

This is bad. You can’t cast any spells without dislodging your staff and falling into the monster's jaws--mandibles? No, most spiders don’t have sophisticated mouth-parts, since they use venom and digestive acids primarily to _wow,_ now is not the time.

 

The strain in your arms and the cracking of the floor are kind enough to remind you that the dread spider is much, much stronger than you are are; direct combat would be unwise. And thanks to the buckling ceiling, time is not on your side. You need to think. You need to think of something, come on, the exit is right there, you need to think you need to think you need to HOW ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO HEAR YOURSELF THINK WITH THAT SPIDER’S INFERNAL CHEWING.

 

Wait! Your geek-out a second ago--it can’t be the spider! You strain to hear where the sound of chewing is coming from. Within the darkness, you hear a chorus of soft clicks and crunches along ancient bones.

 

The roaches you passed by on entry are _carrion_ roaches.

 

And judging by the sounds of their desperate pluckings on month-old cadavers, they’re starving.

 

And the spider trying to drag you down is, for all intents and purposes, an animated corpse.

 

**= > CALL THE BUGS**

 

You risk taking one hand off your staff to hastily dig through your supplies, until you pull out a scrap of oil cloth you’d use to light a torch or lantern. Barely fumbling out a scrap of parchment to top it, you then pull your flint out of your belt, nearly dropping your setup as a lurch from below attempts to wrench you downward. No time to dig out steel! You bend your staff over the scraps and desperately strike the handle to get a spark.

 

As you start a downwards strike one of the spider's claws pierces into your shoulder, but your recoil is enough to send sparks flying! The paper catches and sets the rag alight, and you pour all your remaining lifeblood into the arm that tears it from the ground and throws it into the darkness before you.

 

The spider hooks your arm back roughly in response, just as you hear a small-scale stampede evacuate from its rest, soon to be followed by the sensation of thousands of little legs skittering across your back and arms and _it is so gross._ The fiery muse of the Five Great Seraphim cannot give you the words to tell you how ridiculously, uncomfortably awful it feels ew ew ew, on no, they’re getting on your face ONE JUST GOT INTO YOUR MOUTH AH AH AAAAAAAH and they’re super itchy too actually GAAAAH.

 

For all meanings of the word, your skin is crawling. But soon you’re awash not in the tiny thunderings of little legs, but the voracious grinding away and the shrieks and scratches of the hellion beneath you. The instant you feel slack on your legs, the claw in your shoulder goes limp with a sharp spasm, giving you the time to grip your staff and kick yourself out of the webbing and onto solid ground. You’re barely on your feet before you are through the crack in the wall, stumbling and staggering forward into the light and fresh air of an ending day.

 

As you feel your heels hammer into the hard stone of the temple, soon into the soft earth and shredding vegetation of the forest, it finally begins to dawn on you that you’ve escaped. To think a tiny tribe of insects can overpower the unholy might of a hellion, succeeding where beast, man, and seraph have failed.

 

Nature is a beautiful thing.

 

That is to say, to hell with nature, you are going home and not stepping foot outdoors for a week.

 

… … …

… … … …

 

**= > REPORT TO GRAMPS**

 

You return to Elysia in shreds and exhaustion, and despite many of the villagers questioning what could have happened to you, you do not halt your mad dash until your body gives out in in the home of Chief Seraph Zenrus. Even though your report delivers almost entirely in adrenaline-infused gibberish, Gramps seems to understand the situation, and directs a convenient crowd of worried onlookers to form a scouting party for any other roaming hellions, as well as to send Sorey home immediately by your insistence.

 

It’s not until the crowd is gone that Gramps asks you to explain the situation, notably why you were in the ruins and how you escaped your encounter, in greater detail. Your exhaustion trumps your fear of retribution, and you explain your battle took place during an independent search as to the identity of the knight. Much to your surprise, her story holds water, but with only one inconsistency--the ceremonial knife bearing an unfamiliar crest.

 

You present the knife to Gramps. He quietly ponders over it for a moment, before telling you what it represents. Once told in full, his explanation steals the rest of your energy.

 

**= > END THE DAY**

 

You walk to Sorey’s house in a daze, and arrive to find he and the knight are standing around a bonfire in front, tanning prickle boar hides and drying meat, presumably with Sorey trying his best to ignore a still-curious crowd of stragglers huddled a short distance away, cooing and talking excitably about the only other human they’ve seen in quite some time. You’re surprised that, for all your tiredness, you still feel relieved--as does he.

 

“Mikleo!” he cries, upon seeing you stagger toward the two of them. Upon hearing your name, the knight perks up as well.

 

“Mikleo is here as well?” she asks. Oh right. This again.

 

“Oh! Yeah, he actually is this time!” says Sorey enthusiastically. Sorey, what do you mean this time? Has he been talking about you all--

 

On second thought, forget it. It’s fine. You need to chill out.

 

**= > RELAX**

 

You’re tired. You’re at your wits end. And you’re covered in dirt, vegetation, dried blood, and bug footprints. You announce to Sorey that you’re going to take a bath, to which Sorey makes a quick excuse to the knight that he’s going to wash up and sharpen some tanning tools in his abode.

 

You hear him ask “You think you can handle everything out here a bit?” from the doorway as you drag out the wash bin and begin to fill it with warm water. By the time he’s in himself, Sorey launches into worry.

 

“I’m so glad you’re okay!” he says in a hush, digging out a towel and fresh clothes from his stores. “We just got back when I got the news--and saw half the town go out searching for hellions! Mason said you even got into a fight with one!” He laughs. “He should have just told me you were fine first. I thought I was gonna have a heart attack for a second.”

 

By now, you’re soaking in the bath and beginning your mad efforts to scrub the horrors you’ve endured out of your pores. Sorey’s put his back to you to grant you some privacy, but he sits down not too far from the tub to sharpen the tools as promised.

 

“So what happened?” he asks.

 

**= > TELL HIM**

 

You scrape, comb, and scrub the ordeal from yourself, and relay the events to Sorey: from the knight’s fall to the fate of her squadron, to your perilous re-encounter with the dread spider. You confirm the knight’s story as the truth, albeit with no small undertone of bitterness to someone who’d long since trusted her word. After your story, Sorey pauses for a moment.

 

“This doesn’t sound good with what she’s told me,” he adds. “Apparently, it’s really bad in her hometown, Ladylake. There’s been bad monster outbreaks, crops are failing...they’re really worried about civilian casualties.”

 

The rough scrapes of his tools stop for a moment, and he continues with an uneasy sigh.

 

“Gramps’s domain is really powerful. If hellions are able to enter Elysia…” he shakes his head. “I’m almost worried about her going back alone with the way things are now.”

 

You dump water over your head to wash out the suds. You feel your brow burn. He really needs to know.

 

**= > GIVE HIM THE KNIFE**

 

Since your belongings are not too far from the tub, you have no trouble digging out the knife from your pack. You slide it across the smooth wood of the floor, and when it lands at Sorey’s side, he stares in confusion as you explain.

 

The crest on the knife is that of the ROYAL FAMILY OF LADYLAKE, gifted only to those who have rightful claim to the throne. When Gramps originally explained its significance to you, your response was something to the effect of “so what’s the big deal?”, which earned you a smack across the head with his pipe. You censor that part, and explain what you learned next: while the government in Ladylake has taken a turn away from strict monarchy, the royal bloodline is still sacred. Even the royal family would not possess such an item unless they were in the most extreme intimacy to the line of succession. If the knight herself isn’t one with such a right, she was traveling with one who is in her entourage, who is now among the deceased.

 

You dress yourself in fresh clothes as you finish, and sit down next to Sorey, who still studies the knife in grave concentration. You search his face, and see as much bewilderment as worry. Something about it knots in your stomach, and you ask him before you realize: “What will you do?”

 

He turns to you, eye’s softening. “I don’t know”, he says.

 

You’re revolted by the pit feeling in your chest, especially identifying it as a painful mix of anger and guilt. As you try to further extrapolate their origins, the blood in your face suddenly runs painfully cold. The glove! You never gave Sorey the glove you found in the ruins the other day!

 

**= > RETURN THE GLOVE**

 

You almost slip as your still-damp body moves to the clothes piled in a heap. The gravity of your sudden rush is enough to turn Sorey’s head, and you hear “Is something wrong?” as you tear through the articles in your pack. Do you still have it after that ordeal? Would it even be in one piece if you did?

 

Your blood finally moves again when you pull out the glove, folded over at an odd angle, but otherwise no worse for wear. You hasten back to Sorey’s side, and shove the glove into his hands a bit more roughly than your intention.

 

“I was wrong,” you gasp at his shock. “I was an idiot, and I’m sorry.” Your words seem too frantic for him to register in his surprise. As his eyes widen in understanding, you can’t help but feel a little sheepish with your own apology.

 

“It’s not my job to tell you what you can and can’t do,” you say, mostly to scold yourself. Sorey cups the glove in his hands and smiles.

 

“I can’t believe I almost forgot about this!” he says, shaking his head. “I just forgot with everything that happened…” he debates the glove for a moment, before slowly slipping it onto his hand. He weighs it with pensive curiosity, before tightening it into a fist, and flashing the Shepherd’s crest at you. “So what do you think?” he asks.

 

You feel your cheeks pinched by embarrassment, and you shrug roughly. “I dunno. You’re you,” is the most you can mutter back. You can’t believe how stupid that sounds, but something about it makes Sorey laugh brightly, and throw an arm around your shoulders to pull you next to his.

 

“Thank you Mikleo,” he says in a relieved tone, and you discontentedly grumble as he gives you an affectionate ruffle to the back of your head. “Anyway, I should be heading back to help. Wanna come?”

 

You refuse instinctively, and so sharply that you quickly excuse yourself due to tiredness. The amber glow from the setting sun that dusts the opposite walls makes a solid enough claim to back you up. Sorey nods in understanding; “Make sure you get your rest, then,” he says, giving your shoulder one last squeeze before rising to his feet and carrying the tools out the door.

 

For the first time in some while, you’re alone in the house.

 

**= > GET YOUR REST**

 

Despite your lie, you find yourself oddly exhausted, enough to stop you from getting up immediately. You rest your back to the wall and search for conversation between Sorey and the knight. You’re surprised to hear them talking brightly, and even hear a spontaneous laugh from Sorey. Pre-century Seraphic Theory comes up--apparently the knight’s read the Celestial Record as well? Figures. Between the empty house, the settling cool of the evening air, and the sounds of a few chattering passersby, still energetically discussing the girl at their doorsteps, suddenly it feels like the strange intruder was really you.

 

You have no will left to direct your legs, but they carry you to bed well enough. You lay down on top of the sheets and close your eyes, and listen to the murmurs outside. You can no longer make out the words but the amiable tone of their conversation is not so easily muffled by the walls.

 

You’re not too proud to admit you’re jealous of her. You’re jealous that she’s a human, you’re jealous that she needs help, and you’re jealous that she’s more like Sorey than you are. You don’t know if Sorey will follow her down the mountain to live the rest of his life in the world below; in your heart of hearts, you doubt it will come to that. But you have no great affirmation or resounding answer why he should stay. Maybe it's your weariness talking, but something about that is just as bad.

 

Also, whenever you try to inhale the warm scent of the sheets, you’re assaulted by flowers and some fruity shampoo smell. Damn princess knight.

 

**= > SLEEP**

 

You close your eyes, and let your body relax. There’s a pleasant breeze coming from the door, and the smell of wood and drying meat is more soothing than you expected. Despite visions of cockroaches, spiders, and pitfalls dancing in your head, you manage to settle your mind into a warm place of semi-consciousness, wary enough to feel the soft bed and freshly-laundered clothes, but far too lost to the passing of time. Though perhaps you’re more asleep than you first thought, because you re-enter the world in shock, with bright lamplight in your eyes and a knee driven straight into the small of your back.

 

You hear the knight hum in confusion about the same time you hear Sorey cry in panic, and tumble off the opposite edge of the bed before you can sort the two. It seems that it’s now nightfall, and the lady knight is now preparing to settle down in what she assumed was an empty bed. And in settling down, for lack of a better term, she’s kicked you out of bed in the process.

 

 

“Mikleo!” Sorey cries as you shout furious maledictions upon the knight from floor.

 

“Mikleo?” the knight asks, still settling into bed. You send Sorey a sharp signal to drop it before he can respond. “So is he here right now?”

 

“Um, kind of?” Sorey says, as you bury your brow in your fingers. You almost wish the knight could see the mess she’s made. Even just so you’d have an excuse to Twin Flow the memories right back out of her.

 

“I see…” she says, looking at the spot in bed where you were lying only a few moments before. She couldn’t have sensed your presence there, could she? “Oh! That reminds me. I-I should make an offering to Mikleo for a safe journey before I set off, shouldn’t I?”

 

**= > TELL SOREY TO TALK HER OUT OF IT**

 

What has he been saying about you?! How much does she know?! How much does she NOT know?! It doesn’t matter now--you demand Sorey to talk the knight out of her foolishness immediately.

 

“I guess you could if you want, but I think you’ll embarrass him more than anything,” Sorey says. That’s. Not what you asked him to do.

 

“Embarrassed?” the knight asks.

 

“Oh gosh, yeah!” Sorey says, as ruffle your own head in angry confusion. “He’s the type who never knows what to do when someone thanks him. He tries, but he usually says something cranky, or shoots you down and says he doesn’t deserve it.”

 

The knight chuckles with surprising warmth, as you find you haven’t slept enough to get the energy back for yelling. “Oh!” her face suddenly sharpens in realization. “Does that mean you can hear Mikleo’s voice? That you can speak with him?”

 

SOREY DON’T TELL HER. “Yeah, I guess you can say that!” SOREY.

 

“If that’s the case, can you please tell him I’m grateful for all he’s done?” the knight asks.

 

**= > CONTROL THE DAMAGE**

 

You insist that Sorey do everything he can to end the conversation--not derail, not change subject, end it and go to bed. Sorey bites his lip in thought, and then meets your eyes in understanding.

 

“Ah ha, well,” he starts awkwardly. “I could try, but I’m not sure he’d have anything to say.”

 

“Oh, I think I remember you saying that...he can be shy?” she says. Whatever, don’t start a fight over this, you want this to stop. “He sounds a lot like my mentor. She has a very mature and somber personality, and she’s always scolding me for little mistakes. And she works so hard that she can shut herself in for days on end and wear herself to the bone...yet she always tells me off for the same!”

 

“That definitely sounds like Mikleo!” Sorey says with a laugh, and you snort.

 

“She’s been my biggest source of encouragement. Every day, she tells me I’m a fine knight, and no matter how impossible it may seem, she says I am a person who deserves…” she says, her smile faltering sadly for a moment. “...a person who deserves to do whatever she thinks is right. No matter what others say, or how many people tell me I can’t.”

 

“Yeah, Mikleo’s like that too,” Sorey says. An odd silence passes through the room, interrupted by the rustle of the sheets as the knight pulls her knees to her chin, eyes glazing over in memory.

 

“When my mother passed away, she stayed by my side, and brought back the joy of life I was sure I’d lost forever. I love her like my own family,” her face rose with a small smile. “I...I hope Mikleo is someone like that for you, too!”

 

“Yeah, he definitely is!” Sorey agrees, as your face burns with mortification. You remind Sorey that the conversation really needs to end. He nods. “And with that said, the great wind, Mikleo, demands that we douse the lights and get some rest!”

 

You give up. Time has proven things go better when you say nothing anyway.

 

**= > SHUT UP AND SHUT DOWN**

 

The knight giggles as Sorey turns out the lamp. “Mikleo gives you a curfew?” she says. “How interesting!”

 

“It’s not quite a curfew,” Sorey says, before sitting down next to you, and you futilely throw a pillow over him. “I think it’s because he’s not human, he gets really insistent on the needs of others since they’re not the same as his. But your mentor’s probably the same way, right?”

 

“She is!” the knight says, before correcting. “Ah, well, except for being human, of course. But she very much puts my needs before her own. Good night Sorey.”

 

“Yeah! Good night,” Sorey says, settling against your back. As you thought. This conversation ended in record time.

 

You’re now certain it’s the hard floor that’s keeping you awake, even if there’s a strange tension still lingering in your mind. The steadiness of Sorey’s breathing behind you tells he’s already slipped away to a dream. Come to think of it, he had a hard day too, and you didn’t even get a chance to ask him about it. You’ll have to remember to do that tomorrow.

 

“Sorey?” the knight calls softly from the bed, and you feel the muscles in your shoulder’s jolt--you’d almost forgotten she was here. Her words are met with silence from you and Sorey both. You hear a sad sigh.

 

“I hope that Mikleo is real, somehow,” she breathes quietly into the darkness. “Even if it means you aren’t alone up here.”

 

“Mmm,” you murmur in agreement, pulling your legs toward you. “Moron, she can’t hear you” you remind yourself. It’s the last thing you remember before you finally fall asleep.


	3. IXNAY ON ASONMAY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish to apologize for the delay on this chapter; both buttshop and I had a horrific month. But don't worry, we're not letting this fic die. Especially not now! The real shippy stuff starts next chapter!
> 
> Also, I now have a crush on Alisha's dog. Thanks a bunch, buttshop.

It’s the evening after the lady knight bade you farewell and began her way home. Alisha, you mean. The last thing she did before she left was (finally) tell you her full name--Alisha Diphda. 

 

“I will never forget the kindness you’ve shown me, nor cease my prayer for your health and happiness,” she had said. “Should you ever find yourself in Ladylake, seek my manor. You shall be welcomed with open arms.”

 

That was the last thing she said before she began her march down the mountain. And...

 

And that was the last thing that happened the whole day, actually! Yes yes! Nothing else to think about other than that! Especially now, _ right before bed _ , the absolute worst time to think about things! Which you don’t need to worry about, because hey, what’s there to think about, right?!

 

Well gosh, on that note, look at you! All tucked in bed, ready for a good night’s sleep! Good night stars! Good night Sorey! And good night to you, all you beautiful people!

 

**= > SLEEP, DAMMIT**

 

You close your eyes and bury yourself in the blankets, trying not to make too much of a stir, since it’s been about a half hour since Sorey and you have turned in for the night. Man, you really aren’t used to sleeping in a bed after all this time, huh? Stupid princess knight! Ha ha ha!

 

It must be cold or something--you can’t stop shaking for some reason. Well, that’s what Sorey’s for! You roll over in bed, and push your face into his back. It works better than you expected; you’re now feeling much warmer and much less jittery. Too bad the same ease you now feel is also the one that loosens the barriers keeping your mind from wandering to  _ the thing that didn’t happen today.  _ A sudden, sharp almost-recollection makes you clutch Sorey’s shoulder and muffle some emphatic nothing into his back. Good thing Sorey sleeps like an ox-shaped boulder, or else you would’ve woken him up for sure.

 

You feel Sorey’s hand slide on top of yours on his shoulder. Oh crap, he’s awake.

 

**= > PRETEND TO BE ASLEEP**

 

“Are you okay?” you hear him ask, and you respond as you always do in a crisis: duplicitous and uncooperative. You stay silent, hoping Sorey assumes you’re having a bad dream. After a brief moment of quiet in the dark, you feel him give your hand a light squeeze, and your just reward for lying is not being able to squeeze back without blowing your cover.

 

Sorey shifts in bed, and you feel your hand carried off your shoulder with measured pace, before it’s placed in a new, empty space in front of you. With a small squeak, his weight disappears from your side, and you force all your senses to your ears to try to figure out what he is doing. You hear his footsteps through the bed, stopping a few times to rustle through a few distant corners of the house. A hushed “oh shoot!” announces a clattering of what sounds like traveling tools raining down and scattering noisily across the floor. You’re pretty sure he’s trying to be stealthy.

 

**= > KEEP PRETENDING TO BE ASLEEP**

 

It takes a lot to disguise your face’s recoil from the shock of the cacophony, but you think he’s not caught on. You hear the cinching of fabric, and a few clunks of something glassy knocking into each other--healing salves, perhaps? You don’t have much time to ponder though, because you hear the boards loosen as Sorey makes his way back toward you.

 

The bed sinks once more beneath his weight, tilting towards the edge. You feel a hand rest lightly on your shoulder.

 

“I’ll be back, Mikleo,” Sorey whispers to you. “I promise.”

 

As he hoists himself off the bed, you feel dark realization tighten your brow. You didn’t think he was this stupid. He’s seriously going to leave now? Going down that road right now is as good as suicide!

 

You are absolutely not going to let him.

 

Certainly not now, and certainly not after today.

 

**= > GET HIM BACK**

 

For the first time in your life, you waste no time with grace as you all but fall on your face out of bed. You hop-skip into your shoes, grab your staff from its place against the fireplace, and charge out the door, all but slipping and falling on damp grass in your lopsided panic.

 

The night is clear, and your field of vision reaches quite a ways down the road from the village into AROUNDIGHT FOREST surrounding it. You have no trouble spotting Sorey, somberly marching off with a ration pack slung across his shoulders. He must have been in deep thought of what lay ahead, because he didn’t notice you until you’d halfway closed the gap between the two of you, screaming his name with what free breath was left in your lungs.

 

He turns sharply. “Mikleo?” he says. “What are you doing here?”

 

**= > STOP HIM**

 

“Don’t you dare!” you snap. You brace your hands to your knees to catch your breath, and make a valiant effort to list your counterargument. Your efforts result in a dry coughing fit from the brisk night air.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry Mikleo,” Sorey replies, putting his hands on your shoulders to steady your cough and his own nerves. “I know we decided on this together and everything, but I can’t! I was up all night thinking about what could happen to Alisha, and…”

 

It’s true the last thing that... _ person you’re assuming Sorey’s talking about _ said before running off was cursing running into the two of you and not Alisha. But your encounter with him left you both in terrible straits, and were it not for Gramps, you may not have made it out without dire injury. As a result, despite your protests for her safety, Gramps forbade the two of you, along with the rest of the village, to venture out its borders until further notice. Especially since--

 

 

NOPE, NOPE NOPE NOPE, NOT GONNA THINK ABOUT MASON, LET’S ALL STOP THAT NOW BRAIN

 

**= > TALK HIM OUT OF IT**

 

You remind him of everything that happened--in euphemism of course because WOW NO--and insist that an encounter without the power of purification would spell doom.

 

“That’s why I’m not planning to fight!” says Sorey. “I just want to catch up to Alisha, warn her, and return home. Really!”

 

But there’s no telling how keen those monster’s senses are! What would he do if it came to blows? It’d be impossible to outrun the hellion, and Sorey would be courting danger if he planned to get between him and Alisha anywhere along the road.

 

“But it’s not just her,” Sorey insists. “How many other humans and seraphim are we endangering if we stay here and say nothing? I can’t condemn them just to save myself!”

 

**= > PUT YOUR FOOT DOWN**

 

You tell Sorey he can’t go--really. It’s way too dangerous to even make the risk. But you’re already remembering how the two of you talked about it before bed, and how uncertain you felt while assuring him Alisha was strong and not stupid and that she’d be alright. You feel yourself begin to cave--No! You are not! Going! To do this! ‘Right thing to do’ be damned, you have as many good reasons to not go as you have intact bones in your body!

 

OH DAMMIT.

 

YOU JUST REMEMBERED WHAT SNAPPING BONES SOUND LIKE.

 

WHAT’S AWFUL IS THAT IT’S KIND OF A SATISFYING SOUND, LIKE BREAKING A FRESH WAFER COOKIE IN TWO.

 

HOLY CRAP, YOU ARE A MESSED UP PERSON. AWESOME, MIKLEO.

 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Sorey asks. Your turmoil is now transparent, and if you were an awful person, you could use your fat, snotty face to guilt trip Sorey into staying.

 

But alas, you walk the higher road of an only sort-of horrible person.

 

**= > CAVE**

 

If Sorey has a deathwish, you’re not going to let him charge into it alone. You think your plan is a last ditch attempt to get Sorey to consider someone else’s safety if not his own, but it’s a failure. Sorey’s worry shatters into a smile of sheer relief.

 

“I’ll definitely be fine if you’re here!” he says. You feel your hair prickle with what you presume is anger and fear, but the sparkle of energy in Sorey’s eyes is one you didn’t know you had missed, and a voice in the back of your head responds with “yes, everything is fine now, gosh this is nice”. 

 

You really don’t want warm fuzzies and trauma to mix, so you decide not to linger on it. If this is a stealth mission, then it’s best to take advantage of the cover of darkness to push forward while you still can.

 

“Aren’t foxes nocturnal, though?” Sorey asks. Well, he’s a fox hellion Sorey, so he mostly likely obeys the latter than the former. “Pretty sure hellions are nocturnal too,” Sorey adds. Well, it seemed pretty damn active during the day last you checked!

 

“That’s fair,” Sorey concedes. “If anything, he’s probably sleeping off a full mea--”

 

 

The conversation drops like a landslide. The two of you exchange a blanched gaze, before sharing the most awkward laugh you’ve ever had.

 

“O-off to Ladylake then!” Sorey says, bending his arm in front of him at a jaunty angle. Yes indeed! You are so on board with this, you mimic the gesture yourself. Off to Ladylake, and then back home without any incident! Yes, indeed, huzzah!

 

…

… … ... 

 

Long is the night of a weary traveler, especially when running on about two bad nights of sleep and then some. The princess claimed a day or two’s march to Ladylake, but you are out of the forest and on the way to the city by the first silvery lights of dawn along the crown of the hills. You presume it’s because Gramps’s domain is far kinder to the two of you than to a wandering intruder, as well as your more intimate understanding of the wandering brush and trees. You would have made it even faster if Sorey and yourself hadn’t leapt into a panic at every creaking branch and unaccounted crush of the forest floor. But hey! You’re alive! Alive is pretty okay by your count!

 

By the morning’s full splendor, you’ve spotted THE KINGDOM OF LADYLAKE sparkling in the distance from your uphill perch, and by mid-morning, you are at the the great bridge that connects it to the height--and that is where your good fortune ends. A great crowd churns restlessly along the bridge, spilling out across the walkway and stretching all the way to the city proper.

 

Your destination is blocked, and time is of the essence. Proceed hastily, but not carelessly.

 

**= > CONSULT SOREY**

 

You have a hunch that Sorey may have gleaned some knowhow of the flow of the city from his time spent with Alisha. At your inquiry, Sorey balances his chin thoughtfully between his thumb and index finger, searching recent memory.

 

“Outside of what’s going on around her kingdom, she didn’t talk about Ladylake proper very much,” he replies. “But I remember her saying something about a big festival coming up. It would explain the crowd.”

 

You notice several guards scattered around the bridge, positioned methodically at checkpoints. Most are occupied with documentation or moving cargo. Upon second glance, the number of carts, caravans, and beastbound bulk is of notable occurrence within the mass.

 

You swallow hard. You’ve heard and prepared for many trials in the human world--the evils of material wealth, the vices of drink and decadence, self-inflicted fear and strife. But there was one foe you’d hoped not to rub shoulders with so soon: bureaucracy. 

 

**= > FIND ANOTHER WAY IN**

 

You can’t help but notice the namesake of this city; the metropolis is surrounded on all sides by the largest lake that you’ve ever seen (also the only lake you'd even seen). Perfect! With your power over water, it’ll be a piece of cinch to carry Sorey and yourself across to the city. Your proposal is met with an enthusiastic grin from Sorey.

 

“Oh man, that sounds amazing!” he says, but a look of disappointed concern soon molds his face. “But we probably shouldn’t. We may attract the hellion’s attention if you use your magic in the open.”

 

He makes a fair point; true your arts have the ability to camouflage (because of light refraction or something, again, it’s magic water, so you try not to think about it too much), but while it can fool the eye of man or beast, a seraph or hellion is a different matter. Would have made last night a lot easier if it did, that’s for sure.

 

“Hey numbskull! If you’re looking for a place to stand around talking to yourself, the plague town’s next over!” you hear the voice of a merchant riding a cart behind them. She is a woman with cropped red hair, and a dissatisfied gaze at your direction. “There’s even a nice broken bridge you can walk off on the way!” What nerve!

 

**= > TELL HER OFF GOOD**

 

You inform the good lady that if you’re in need of her opinion, you’ll hose her down and drain it from the runoff. Since she is human, she ignores you entirely, and continues to stare impatiently at Sorey. You’re rapidly discovering that you don’t like being invisible in a crowd, and not just for its inherently vain connotation. It sounds delightful in theory, but you’re finding it almost violating. If you’re going to be shunned by the whole of society, then by the heavens, it’s going to be by your own merits!

 

You hate to force issue, but you request Sorey to speak on your behalf. “Hey, that really wasn’t okay,” he says. A liberal translation of your stance, to be sure, but she does give a conceding shrug.

 

“Eh, sorry,” she replies, not even bothering to mask absent sincerity. “You just get sick of tourists after awhile, you know? So, you here for the festival, or what?”

 

You can’t say you’re thrilled about it, but this may be a good opportunity to gather more information from the woman. She seems versed enough in the happenings of town, and with potential involvement in current festivities to boot. Sorry Sorey; your translation is needed a bit longer.

 

**= > ASK HER WHAT SHE’S DOING**

 

Sorey is not fond of lying, both on principle, and for being very bad on it. Still, you whisper instructions into Sorey’s ears (heaven knows why, no one can hear you), and Sorey nods gingerly at you.

 

“Uh, yeah!” he says with a nod. “I mean, sort of. We’re-- _I’M--_ ( _sorry)_ \--just traveling. Name’s Sorey, and I’m uh, kind of new to the area.” He laughs guiltily. You’re worried at the woman lighting up greedily upon hearing of Sorey’s inexperience. “So um, how about you?”   
  


“Why, I’m Rose! Rose of the Sparrowfeathers!” she announces brightly. “Just you’re Honest John Merchant, and if you’re there, we’re  _ everywhere _ !” You try to decipher the nuance of that slogan, but you can’t figure anything other than her troupe is always lurking in the shadows, waiting for the opportune moment to kill you.

 

“Cool!” Sorey says, listening in your direction for the next question. “So Rose, what brings you here? It’s a pretty big crowd today.”

 

“I’m here to help with the big Sacred Blade Fest, of course!” she says. “Wouldn’t get stuck in this kind of traffic otherwise. Sheesh, don’t tell me you haven’t heard about the festival?”

 

You are not going to like asking more about this.

 

**= > ASK HER ABOUT THE FESTIVAL**

 

The look upon Sorey’s face upon hearing your instruction makes you feel sick to your stomach, and you are not eased when he nods uneasily and continues. “I’ve heard a little bit about it, but I’m still um...new? Could you tell me about it?”

 

“Normally, it’s not that big a deal, but the Hyland Kingdom is trying to make it into a big shindig this year. Proably to get everyone’s minds offa things. But hey!” she says, giving the wagon she's riding a hearty slap to its side. “Thanks to that, I can finally offload two kiloliters of Doctor Robert’s Medicinal Cider!”

 

Security seems tight for what seems like a local festival. You understand that Ladylake is home to the royal family, and one of the most populated areas on the Glenwood continent to boot. But the sheer presence of soldiers is troubling; you spot two score easily in immediate scope.

 

“It does seem a bit much,” Sorey agrees, as Rose flashes him a confused look. “Oh, I was talking about the guards. Did something happen recently?”

 

“Ha ha, what! Naw! What! Absolutely not! No way!” she laughs forcefully. “It’s a festival, chucklehead, of course there’s going to be guards! Besides, this is set up by Princess Alisha herself, two-time winner of the Most Desirable Illegitimate Heir award! And five time winner of the Most Assassinatable Illegitimate Heir award! Of course she’d draw a crowd!”

 

Alisha’s here!? Does that mean she made it past the hellion?

 

**= > ASK ABOUT ALISHA**

 

Sorey needs little prompting. “Alisha’s in the city? Is she all right?”

 

“Uh, yeah? As far as I know?” Rose asks, eyebrow raising skeptically. “Why do you think she wouldn’t be?”

 

You’re getting an odd feeling from Rose, and something tells you it may be purdent to end the conversation for now. Your suggestion brings visible relief to Sorey’s face.

 

“No, no reason! I mean, other than what you said, tensions and all!” Sorey replies. “Anway, we--I should really be heading off, so, thanks Rose--”

 

“Hang on a sec,” Rose says, as Sorey starts to turn. “Just where are you from, anyway? You  _ really _ don’t seem like you’ve been around these parts.”

 

“Oh, you wouldn’t know the place,” Sorey insists with a laugh. To be fair, he wasn’t lying.

 

“I’ve been around. Why don’t you try me?” she says. This is bad. Any battle of wits with this one would be dire, if only for her quick thinking and aggressive stance. Sorey’s eyes already turn toward you, begging for a way out. You’re strapped--the only knowledge you have of local areas is from the Celestial Record, and you doubt rattling the locations of the Seven Shining Pillars would either be convincing or dispel suspicion. 

 

Your panic threshold is at its limits. But Rose’s eyes suddenly widen, flashing a smile to something behind the the two of you. “Weh-he-heeelll!” she yells.  “If it isn’t the old fox himself!”

 

The two of you scream at the top of your lungs.

 

“Well sheesh, back at you!” she snaps. “Wasn’t talking to you anyway--SHERMAN, you sonovabitch! Put it here, man!”

 

“Rose, you gross piece of human scum!” a voice behind you thralls, as a soldier nearly knocks Sorey over to give her a high five. “Who you tryin' to poison this time?”

 

“The whole city, if I play my cards right!” Rose says, pointing to the back of the cart. “Oh, speaking of poison, I’m guessing the whole um, rat problem worked itself out?”

 

“Uh, oh! Yeah,” the soldier says, as Rose flashes him a wink. “Punk’s sleeping with the fishes now, thanks. Hey, this guy with you?”

 

“Nah, we’re just talking,” Rose replies, jerking her head towards Sorey before you could even wonder. 

 

“Right. If I may see your sword then, sir?” the knight orders, extending his hand to Sorey beside you. Sorey recovers, gives a quick ‘oh, sure!’, and hands his scabbard to the knight. The knight removes the sword, and after taking a look at the edge, roars with laughter. 

 

“Oh that is  _ adorable _ ,” he says, resheathing the sword, and handing it to Sorey with a playful ruffle of his hair. “You may pass. Don’t get lost or anything, ‘kay kid?”

 

Even you don’t have the patience to be cross. Sorey takes his sword back, not wasting any time after proper thank-yous to take his leave toward the city gates.

 

“I’m having a hard time getting the feel of the people here,” he whispers to you under his breath. Bless that poor man, always wanting to give the benefit of the doubt. Good thing you’re here.

 

**= > ENTER THE CITY**

 

You have been warned by many a tome that one’s first visit to the royal city will leave one flabbergasted from its beauty and splendor, and you still need to summon divine energy to rein yourself in from laxity, because _wholly goodness gracious, this place is amazing!_ Look at the size of these buildings! The gothic recreation of art reminiscent of the Golden Century! Oh gosh, oh gosh, is that, no way, it can’t be.

 

 

“The Divine Water Wheel!” Sorey screams, as the two of you rush across the square to get a better look at the towering stone gears, moving with rhythmic groans from the water gushing through the aqueducts below. Holy crap. _Holy crap_. And this was like, one of the two-ish things in the Celestial Record that you thought was going to be boring!

 

“You can see the inscriptions carved in the spokes too!” says Sorey. “This is amazing! This is--shoot, what am I doing? Alisha’s still in trouble!”

 

The realization is enough to make you stumble a little. Huh? Wait, no...you actually feel a little light-headed all of a sudden, even feverish. Is the lack of sleep catching up to you?

 

“Hey, you alright?” Sorey asks, noticing you resting your forehead on your fingertips. In the corner of your eyes, you notice wisps of darkness, shimmering with a putrid, oil-like sheen, creeping below the cheerfully bubbling waters. Malevolence! You point it out to Sorey, who immediately turns grim.

 

“I was worried about this. Alisha made it sound like there wasn’t a blessed domain in the city,” Sorey says. When a seraph makes a divine pledge to aid a group of humans, they create a BLESSED DOMAIN that repels the onset of malevolence. In exchange for their protection, as well as their enhancement of the natural splendor of the elements within their grasp, they are awarded the title LORD OF THE LAND, and humans are to offer prayers, care, and kindness to fuel the power of their great burden. It is a divine task with divine consequences; should either the humans or the seraph falter in their devotion, the domain will collapse, and both shall be corrupted.

 

“It’d be too easy for a hellion to form in a place this size without a Lord of the Land!” Sorey says. “I’m sorry Mikleo. I got so caught up in the water wheel, I didn’t even notice. Jeez...I’m the worst.”

 

You tell him not to worry about it--one of water’s drawbacks is its low tolerance of impurity, material and spiritual. And, full disclosure: even you had a half-thought that this catastrophic, life-destroying event at least gave you a chance to see this place. So the title for Worst Person Ever? Still yours. Sorey responds with a laugh of relief.

 

“Well, let’s warn Alisha about the hellion and get somewhere that’s easier on our health,” he says, extending a hand out to you. “It’s a little crowded around here, so let’s stay close, okay?”

 

Your brain rattles as you try to remember if this is one of the 17 socially acceptable times for two boys to hold hands, but as you feel another wave of nausea overtake you at the same time Sorey’s fingers wrap around your palm, you decide you can just blame malevolence woosiness or whatever if anyone gives you trouble. As if you’d care. And as if anyone could even see you.

 

**= > SEARCH FOR ALISHA**

 

Sorey’s right; the crowd is dense along the streets, with the people on a single merchant stretch easily equaling the whole population of Elysia. Between the uncomfortable buzz of the lingering impurity and the enthusiastic clamoring of the festival-goers, you have difficulty concentrating on your task. One thing is certain though--you’ll be up for a challenge should you choose a straight search. Alisha could walk by ten paces near you and you wouldn’t be able to detect her through the ruckus. 

 

You bring your concerns to Sorey, who agrees. “It’s best if we try to find her home. Hopefully she won’t have ventured out. Even though…” Even though? “She’s spearheading the festivities, and I doubt she’s the type who would take a break for anything.” A fair point. And with a crowd this large, anything can happen to her under anyone’s nose. In a delicate situation, you’d rather not fly blind, and so you decide to turn your search to seeking information.

 

**= > ASK A VENDOR FOR DIRECTIONS**

 

You’re fairly certain a merchant would be receptive to giving directions to a newcomer, as even your particularly surly first encounter demonstrated. Sorey nods at your plan, and points toward a near-empty stall along the ending stretch. Perfect! If you make haste, you might not need to wait in line. But before you can make your way, Sorey squeezes your hand to hold you back.

 

“Be careful!” he cautions in a low voice. You swallow the heartbeat that jumped into your throat to protest--for heaven’s sake, Sorey, you’re not that sick.

 

“No, look!” he insists, pointing into the churning masses. Mixed within are hellions, or at least some citizenry far past a healthy threshold of contamination. Their symptoms were horrifically apparent to you: slouching like a bum, gross purples and greens overtaking their pallor, and the beginnings of feral teeth and claws erupting from their bodies. But the people at large seem undisturbed. As you fear, they are unable to see the symptoms of hellion transformation just as they can’t see the seraphim.

 

You nod at Sorey, and make your way at a slow pace so as not to draw attention of the blossoming beasts. When the two of you arrive at the booth, the owner greets with with an energetic smile.

 

“Welcome, welcome my good man!” he says to Sorey. “Would you like to place a wager on the next match?” He waves toward a small, cheering mob, all circled around a pair of--

 

SWEET MERCIFUL ELEMENTS. A small ring has formed around a pair of. Tiger. Men? Each standing seven feet tall, broader than your full height, and locked in each other’s tight grapple. They roar and groan, straining against each other’s sinews in tense exertion, as the onlookers roar and eagerly wave what appear to be betting slips.

 

“More of them?!” Sorey whispers to you frantically. Actually...no, you don’t sense any malevolence from the prodigious panthera. They’re not hellions. They’re just. A thing.

 

“A-are you sure?” Sorey urges. “Like there’s not something we’re missing, or it’s…” He desperately searches your face for guidance. What are you supposed to say? It’s just...a city thing, you suppose.

 

“Hey, are you alright buddy?” the man asks, as you hear the meaty slap of muscles coming to sharp blows. Sorey does not respond. Something inside him has been broken.

 

**= > SNAP HIM OUT OF IT**

 

It pains you to bring him back to terrible reality, but you’re not in a place to cover for Sorey. You give his shoulders a shake to rouse him from his stupor. “Huh?” he says, blinking hazily at you before turning back to the stall man and blanching. “Oh! Oh, uh, sorry.”

 

“Ah, I see you’re new to Cougar Corkscrew,” says the ticket seller. “If you’d like, I could give you a special newcomer discount to--”

 

“ _NO_ , no thank you,” Sorey says. “Actually, I just need directions. Do you know where Alisha Diphda might be? Like her house?” His question earns him a husky laugh.

 

“You really must be new around here!” the seller says, although you have a hard time hearing him as the sound of three hundred pounds of taut tiger being crushed under another sets the crowd into a roar. “Princess Alisha lives in the nobles' district, down the road away from the temple. Hope you don’t have your heart set on an audience with her, though.”

 

“Thank you so much!” Sorey says, and then abandons his own advice by dragging you full-speed from the booth. To be fair, if you weren’t transfixed by the tiger man’s shirt tearing as he puts the one beneath him into a grapple hold, you probably would have done the same.

 

**= > GET DRAGGED TO THE NOBLES' DISTRICT**

 

Since the temple is at the highest point in town, you have no trouble locating it, nor the main road that leads to the nobles' area. The walk is brisk, but incredibly awkward. You hardly speak to each other as you climb the stairs leading to the gated district, watched warily by guards as you enter a far less crowded pocket. Instead of stalls, the roads are routinely lined with fountains and well-manicured flower beds, and its open space easily directs the eye to the great castle that overlooks all the manors below.

 

“Wonder which way she is?” Sorey wonders, gazing along the nigh-identical mansions for a clue. You’re at a loss, since you’d assume she’d just live in the castle if she was a princess. You hope that she’s at least be not too far from it, perhaps in an off manse to the side. Either way, it would be wise to start at the castle and then slowly circle outward.

 

Sorey agrees, but the two of you are quickly overwhelmed in your search. The villas to the side of the palace are just as prohibitively similar to those on the outskirts, and far more heavily guarded. Even asking for directions proves difficult; passing residents more often than not ignore your inquires outright (UGH! Rude much?), and guards refuse to give even passing information unless you have official documentation. You spend the vast majority of your search seemingly wandering in circles, and by noon, you still haven’t an inkling of where Alisha could possibly be.

 

“This is getting pretty bad,” Sorey muses, as the two of you walk away from another pair of obstructive soldiers. It’s disheartening to agree, but at this point, you wonder if you’ll have better luck searching the main road cold. All of it makes you furious. You can understand security, but isn’t this unreasonably cruel? Even when Sorey speaks with urgency, insisting the princess may be in mortal danger if your message is not passed, his pleas are met with laughter. You’re rapidly losing patience with this city, and the escalating tempo of your pounding headache does it no further favors.

 

“I’m sorry about all of this,” Sorey says suddenly, and you don’t even bother to censor the loud snort that escapes you.

 

**= > SCOLD**

 

Nor do you bother to hold back on how silly it is to apologize on behalf of the idle rich. Look at them! Arrogant socialites practically digging their own graves. Would they even blink if you walked up to them and threaten to kill the princess yourself?

 

“They have a lot on their plate protecting Alisha, especially during hard times,” Sorey says. “I really should have seen that sooner...you were right all along Mikleo. I broke our promise, dragged you down here, and it may all be for nothing.”

 

Well, that was uncharacteristically pessimistic of him to say. You insist it’s fine--you’d rather be here than pacing up alone on Elysia, wondering if he was alive or dead. It’s enough to make Sorey stop in his tracks, stock still and in dead silence. Before you can ask, he suddenly turns to you with grief-burdened eyes.

 

“But that’s not good either, right?” Sorey says. “I’m either dragging you into danger, or making you worry about me as I keep making these kinds of mistakes. And I get worried! You’re always thinking about me, but I keep doing things that put you in danger or hurt you. And I...I really don’t know what to do sometimes, you know? You always say it’s okay, but don’t you ever get sick of it? Get mad? Just want me to stop?”

 

You’re at a complete loss. You feel like there’s a painfully obvious answer to this, but if there is, you’re grasping it as well as he is. You’re fine like this? No, he wouldn’t be satisfied with that. It doesn’t really hurt you or cause that much trouble? That’s...closer, but it still doesn’t seem to quite put it to rest. You feel your stomach twist with an urgency that surprises you, only agitated by the fact that you've become weirdly fixated that Sorey is still holding your hand. You figure any answer at this point is better than none, but the moment you open your mouth, you nearly fall over with a shriek of anger at the disruption of an aggressively barking dog.

 

“Whoa!” Sorey asks; oh _fantastic_ , you actually jumped from surprise. ARGH you HATE dogs. They’re one of the few creatures that have natural resonance to detect seraphim. Oh no, it couln’t have been anything like songbirds or deer, or even cats (which are way better). It’s the LOUDEST and GROSSEST animal in the whole world. Damn, you hate dogs.  _ Hate _ . Not fear.

 

“Koby, calm down!” You hear a familiar voice playfully chastise the brute, and sure enough, Alisha emerges from behind the wall of nearby manor, smiling warmly behind her. “I promise I’ll play with you when I get home tonight, so--Sorey?! What are you doing here?”

 

**= > WARN HER**

 

You don’t even bother to give Sorey instructions. The two of you leap on Alisha and bombard her with your warnings and ill tides. It takes you catching your breath to remember that there’s no way she can hear you, but seeing the confusion twisting across an otherwise beaming smile, you think that perhaps such is for the best.

 

“P-please, I must ask you to slow down,” she implores. “Teeth...eating...a man hunting me...I’m sorry, who is this man?”

 

You remind Sorey that Alisha won’t be able to detect the fox-man’s hellion characteristics, and depending on the level of corruption, may not be able to see him at all. “Right,” Sorey says. “Alisha, we came to warn you that back in Elysia, we came in contact with...something that said they wanted to hunt you down to punish you. Do you remember running into anyone or anything that may bear a grudge against you back where we were?”

 

Alisha pinches her chin and stares thoughtfully down. “When I was exploring Marlind, I took a detour to try to gather some more information along the northern border. We’ve had some records speaking of similar odd situations that we face now. I ran into a highway bandit of sorts...” she says. “But he was easily dispatched by my team. I doubt that's who you're speaking of.”

 

“Maybe..” Sorey says uneasily, “Either way, there's someone out there who's really dangerous, too dangerous not to warn you about. He...he mortally wounded a friend of mine.”

 

“Oh no, not Mikleo!” Alisha cries, as Sorey quickly shakes his head no.

 

“Mikleo’s fine--but you really have to be careful!” Sorey insists. “You’re really strong, but it took everything I had to fight him off. I’m not sure what’s happened to him, but he’s become really aggressive now. If you see anything weird, turn and run, all right? No one will think you’re weak or strange, you just--”

 

 

Her sudden embrace catches you both by surprise. Sorey looks downright stricken, but before he can ask, she backs away with a grateful smile.

 

“It’s been quite some time since someone has taken my safety so close to heart,” she says. “Thank you Sorey. I can’t say I’m happy about the circumstances, but I’m overjoyed you’ve come to Ladylake! I’m afraid I have matters to attend to at the moment, but when I return, you must let me indulge you with some hospitality.”

 

“Ha ha, well, a rest would certainly be nice,” says Sorey.

 

“Then please, rest at my manor until I return,” she says, reaching toward a pack at her side before pausing sadly. “Oh dear, I forgot it’s still missing,” she grumbles. Her dagger!

 

**= > SMASH YOUR PALM INTO YOUR FACE**

 

And of course, you forgot the stupid knife back in Elysia. Of course. Along with a change of clothes and your favorite bath salts.

 

“Don’t worry, I got you covered!” Sorey grins, flashing you a wink as he reaches into his sack. “Well, except for the clothes and bath salt.”

 

“Beg your pardon?!” Alisha asks, a swatch of pink gracing her face.

 

“Oh! No, sorry, I was talking to Mikleo,” Sorey replies, and with a triumphant sweep, he pulls out the ceremonial dagger. “Here Alisha! We found this in the ruins. I think it belongs to you?”

 

“My dagger!” says Alisha with a relieved sigh. “Oh, thank you Sorey...but actually, you should keep it for now. Show it to the guards, and tell them you’re Sorey. They’ll take care of you until I return.”

 

“Wait, Alisha--” Sorey starts, but Alisha had already began her march back to the main district, though you admit her step seems a little lighter. Just before she turns onto the central road, she looks over her shoulder with a confident smile.

 

“I will take your warning to heart, Sorey,” she says. “Thank you...and welcome to Ladylake!”

 

She leaves before either of you can say more; a woman on a mission. But by that point, you’re too tired to say anything other than MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. You know what sounds great right now? A bed. Also a bath and a light lunch, but you can prioritize.

 

**= > ENTER THE MANOR**

 

Since Alisha has left, your only remaining option is to make way toward the main entrance of her villa with Sorey. You’re getting increasingly annoyed by how quick the guards switch from cold and unhelpful to welcoming Sorey as a long lost son. However, you decide to channel your bitterness in a healthy way, as your invisibility has helped you discover the lost art of open scorn of strangers.

 

“We are truly grateful for taking care of Lady Alisha in her time of need.” Mmm, which is why you didn’t even try to hide pointing at the ceremonial sword and snickering when the two of you first appeared. “Our lady has spared no small word telling of your generosity, and now we wish to return it in-kind.”  _ Gosh _ , stop, you’re tearing up here. “We feared we’d never have a chance to express our deepest gratitude.” Yes, please further chip away at the already shattered illusion that you don’t see Sorey as completely stupid.

 

“Mikleo, sheesh,” Sorey whispers to you, but you can’t help but notice that he has a small, guilty smile. You shouldn’t feel good about this, and you mean that in all ways you feel good right now. But it doesn’t stop you from making pre-emptive plans for when you return to the plaza. Bring it on, vaguely uncomfortable tiger wrestlers! You have so many words now!

 

“Urgent message for Lady Alisha!” A voice shouts from behind you, and you’re nearly bowled over by a speeding messenger. Oh, ew, you think he passed through your arm. That’s always really weird.

 

“Lady Alisha is attending other affairs,” the guard responds. “Your report?”

 

“Sir! Lady Maltran is occupied with a monster infestation near the bridge!” the scout rattles off. “She regrets to inform the princess that she’ll not be able to meet at the rendezvous, and begs Lady Alisha to postpone her plans until adequate backup is found!”

 

Rendezvous? Backup? This isn’t sounding good at all.

 

“Alisha’s meeting with someone?” Sorey asks, urgently, “Who is it?”

 

“A vagrant who showed up at the villa not long after her return,” the guard replies stiffly. “He was flustered to the point of madness, but he and the princess seemed to have known each other. The princess agreed to meet him; heaven knows why.”

 

“And she brought Maltran to back her up if something went wrong…” Sorey says, eyes widening with the same realization that barbed the pulse in your chest.

 

“Correct, though it still seems like an extreme," the guard says. “Our Lady Alisha could easily outstrip him should he wish to fight her. Man was wounded, and  stumbling as if possessed. And that awful smile he had--”

 

You do not hear the rest. Sorey and yourself have already turned to make a mad dash to the exit.

**Author's Note:**

> My best friend, Buttshop, was the lady kind enough to draw the pictures. All I had to do was tell her a story about boys kissing, and BAM. Pictures. Buttshop is the best.


End file.
